McCoy's Brasserie
by zephtastic
Summary: AU, Kirk/McCoy w/ side of Spock/Uhura&others The life and times of Leonard McCoy, owner of the local bar McCoy's Brasserie
1. La de de da

For all intents and purposes, the first time Leonard McCoy and Jim Kirk meet, it's glaringly obvious that McCoy instantly hates Jim. He and Uhura went to McCoy's Brasserie under her suggestion. She said it was something like her "usual" bar spot and he figured that was a good enough excuse as any. Didn't mean he refrained from opening his mouth.

"Brasserie?" he asked with a slight snicker after they'd walked inside and the abundance of said metal was apparent.

"Yeah," came a gruff reply from his left as a rather equally gruff man passed them by where they stood just inside the door. "It's a play on words."

"Seems rather redundant to me," Jim quipped, grinning at the gruff man. This grin promptly melted into something wearier as the man-who-didn't-get-the-joke became the-man-behind-the-bar. Uhura looked sympathetic, superficially so because he could see the laughter in her brown eyes, and waved a hand elegantly towards the bartender.

"This is Leonard McCoy," she introduced with an honest smile for Leonard and a snarky one for Jim. "And this is—"

"An infant?" McCoy said just as Jim managed "Jim Kirk." Uhura laughed aloud at this and the bar's owner cracked a small smile, literally cracked with the way his face muscles seemed to nearly creak under the exertion of the foreign emotion.

Uhura turned to Jim and gestured towards a table just oft to the miniature stage that took up the back of the small bar. "That's my usual spot," she explained, "go sit there and I'll be there in a second. I'll order for you, okay?" She didn't give him much time for a response before she trotted over to the bar. Jim didn't watch her go and instead walked over to the table.

There was something odd about this bar. He supposed he blamed the oddity of it mostly on Uhura herself. When she had said 'my usual bar' he had imagined someplace sleek and modern, with clean lines and glimmering chrome. This was anything but. It was elegant, in an understated way (something he was sure Uhura appreciated implicitly), with a respect both for the modern and the classical. He, honestly, liked the place. It had a good atmosphere, even if the service left a little to be desired. And, on top of all this, it had an impressive display of alcohol that flanked the bar. He turned to stare at it, eyes roaming all through the different labels and colours of bottle before he met his own, dumbfounded expression in the mirror behind it all. Good look, Kirk, he thought dryly before schooling his features and turning his gaze over to Uhura. He took in her slim back and then glanced just past her enough to lock eyes with McCoy, who was glaring unabashedly straight at him.

Jim couldn't help but flinch a little under the sudden intensity of the assault. Uhura whirled around, her straight hair arcing around her smoothly, and started towards Jim. She gave him a curious look as he resolutely turned away from the bar and towards the small stage.

He made a face as Uhura sat beside him. "What's the matter?" she asked, carefully, eyes studying Jim. "I think you're taking this whole McCoy not liking you thing a little too seriously."

"Shut up," he hissed and leaned forward on his elbows as if to hide in guilty embarrassment from the very man they were talking about, just a few feet away. "It's just," Jim made a frustrated noise and rolled his eyes, knowing full well he was acting like a child but unable to help himself, "I've never had someone instantly hate me before."

"Ha," Uhura snorted and rolled her eyes back. "New experience for the glorious and wonderful James T. Kirk, huh? Not everybody is going to like you, sweetie, sometimes other people disagree." She did the kindergarten teacher impression pretty well much to Jim's disdain. "Now, enough of this nonsense," she said curtly and rose a single brow. "What's the real reason you're taking me out tonight, Jim Kirk? What is your ulterior motive? I should be outside, enjoying the spring weather, since there actually is some here in the States."

Jim pulled off the mock hurt look pretty well, rearing back from Uhura with a cluck of his tongue. "There is no ulterior motive," he easily lied and she saw straight through it. "Other than," he slowly said as her expression turned smug. "That you've just gotten back from nearly a year at Babylon and I wanted to see you!" He was technically still lying but this was part of the truth, just enough to make it believable.

The whole truth was that absence had made the heart grow fonder. Not his heart but his best friend's, Spock, who had slowly but surely gone mad over the eight months of Uhura's disappearance. Wheedling out of Spock why he was acting so off had taken Jim six months but now that he knew, he was determined to see them together. It was too early in the game for Uhura to know this, however, and so he lied.

She bought this, much to Jim's success, and smiled. "Stop calling it Babylon, Jim," she huffed even though she looked rather pleased with him.

"What else am I supposed to call the greatest convergence of the greatest translators of all time that you were invited to?" Jim countered.

Uhura looked even more pleased. He was almost sure she was blushing but it was hard to tell in the dim lighting. She rolled her eyes again and waved a hand. "Shush," she admonished even as she continued to grin. "McCoy is going to play."

"Play?" Jim repeated. He looked up towards the "stage" and the old piano on it. The piano, which Jim assumed was about to be played, was beat to hell. It didn't look like it could carry a tune let alone one leaflet of sheet music. Despite this, McCoy climbed onto the small raised platform and sat down resolutely on the bench.

Much to Jim's surprise, the few people who were in the bar at the moment all quieted their conversation just as he and Uhura had, to watch the bartender. There was no sheet music at all sitting on the piano but McCoy got ready to play anyway. Jim stared in wonder at the long fingered hands as they poised above the keys and then, without much warning, McCoy was playing. The sound of it was amazing, Jim had no clue what song it was, but it filled the entire bar with a rich harmony that made his toes tingle.

Uhura had a dopey expression on her face, somewhat far off as she watched the space just over McCoy's head. Jim wondered how he must look, transfixed by the elegant stroke of each finger over bone white key. He swallowed, convulsively, and nearly jumped out of his skin as drinks were sat on their table by a slim blonde women with a coy smile. She gave him a knowing look before sashaying back to the bar. Uhura had also been broken of her spell and she turned to Jim with another gorgeous grin.

"Wonderful, isn't it?" she sighed as she picked up her shimmery pink drink and took a delicate sip.

"Yeah," Jim said dazedly. "Wonderful."

*

After that first night with Uhura, Jim decided that McCoy's was to be his 'regular' place now, too. There were a multitude of good reasons for this: the place was better than most of the bars in the area, Uhura frequented it so that meant whenever Jim dragged Spock out it'd be an instant success of 'oh, hey, funny seeing you here', and lastly but what was his favorite one: McCoy hated his guts (which he was determined to change) making it way too much fun to annoy him.

The first time he'd come in, about two days after the night he and Uhura had been there, McCoy recognized him immediately and scowled just as quickly. Jim grinned and meandered over to the bar, leaning against it jauntily. The conversation that followed fully cemented his intent for making a regular appearance:

"What, were you like the piano man?" he asked jokingly. "Never saw the fulfillment of your dreams so you opened a bar? That's kind of sad." Jim had expected scowl but instead he got a dry stare and watched as McCoy's expressive mouth pressed into a flat line.

"What's your occupation?" McCoy asked but continued just as Jim had opened his mouth to answer. "Village idiot? Sorry, kid, not all of us can live the dream."

Jim was in love with this place.

*

Jim rested his elbows on the bar, stirring the ice in his now empty drink around and around and around. The place was mostly empty by now. It was the longest Jim had ever stayed at the Brasserie but he had the strange, nagging inclination to see what this bar was like during last call. McCoy was looking tired already, watching the muted ancient TV set above the bar with bleary eyes.

"Hey, McCoy," Jim called quietly. The bartender snapped out of his revere, turning to scowl at his least favorite regular. Jim smiled charmingly in reply, a common exchange between them that he was all too happy to complete. "What's your story?"

McCoy eyed him suspiciously. "My story?" he repeated drolly. "Who's to say I've got a story?"

"Man," Jim drawled, pushing back from the bar on his palms and grinning even wider. "Everyman's got a story and all the best bartenders have tragic ones. So, c'mon, spill the beans."

"Hah," was the sarcastic reply but McCoy pushed away from the back rack of the bar and moved across the small space to stand in front of Jim. "You want my story, Jim? What makes you think you deserve to hear it?"

"I tip well enough, don't I?"

"No, you don't," McCoy snapped. "You're a fucking cheapskate lawyer, you ass."

Jim smirked and pressed a hand to his chest, head bowing. "Guilty as charged," he laughingly said. "Comes from a Harvard degree and some good, Jewish upbringing." Kirk laughed more, delighted in his own joke, much to McCoy's dismay.

"Fine, I'll tell you," the bartender grumbled, leaning on his elbows and dropping the decibel of his voice. It was weird, to Jim, for them to share this private thing. For as long as he had come here he had always been fascinated by the mystique of the bartender, wondering what had made him so prickly and unfriendly. Getting to learn this secret broke the barriers of just bartender and customer. Now, after this, Jim thought unsteadily, they'd be more like friends.

"My wife left me and took everything I had. She took my house, my money and my daughter. Left me with this God forsaken bar that wasn't even my damned idea in the first place." He gave a rueful shake of his head, bitterness dulling his eyes. "Gave me this indignity that sunk right into my bones but," he sighed, "in all my years here, I don't think I regret them. I regret other things but never the bar itself."

Jim didn't know what to say but McCoy solved it by drawing away and clapping his hands, the loud noise sharp and disturbing in the bar's silence. "Alright you layabouts," McCoy bellowed, "time to get the fuck out." The few remaining people all quietly shuffled out but Jim remained where he sat at the bar, watching McCoy wide eyed.

"That means you, too, fucktard," was the drawled reply. Jim grinned, slow and honest.

"Bones," Jim decided aloud. "I'm going to call you Bones."

*

McCoy leaned against the bar next to Uhura, who sat opposite to him. "I should really resent you for bringing that fool in here," he grouched as he eyed the man in question. Jim was sitting at Uhura's usual table with the stoic "best friend" he had taken to dragging here.

"Oh please," Uhura replied with a wave of her hand. "He's the most excitement you've had in a while. You need a little annoyance in your life."

"God, am I ithat/i desperate?" he bemoaned. Jim's laugh carried over to them and Uhura glanced in their direction with a smirk. "Guess I am, but," he paused, eyeing her. "It is good to have you back, at least. It's a trade off that I can deal with." He broke a small smile for her, which she returned in tenfold.

"You missed me!" she happily exclaimed before leaning across the bar top to plant a kiss on his cheek. Neither of them knew, but two sets (one incredulous and one mutedly hurt) watched from across the room.

*

"So, Bones," Jim said and slurred as he wandered up to the bar. The bartender barely spared a glance up from the glasses he was cleaning. "I think you owe me the truth. Give me the skinny on you n' lovely Miss Uhura."

McCoy did look up then, one eyebrow cocked upward while the other bore down over his eye. "Pardon?"

"You n' n'" Jim made some vague flaily movement with his hand. "Uhura! She up here gushing over how you missed her and how she kissed you on the cheek! You were holdin' out on me, man, by not telling me you two were…you know!"

"You're drunk off your ass," was the growled reply. "Where the fuck do you get off? Thinking I was in a relationship with her?"

"She missed you!" Jim protested.

"She's been in Europe for nearly a year!"

"She kissed you on the cheek!"

"Shes been in. Europe for nearly. A year," McCoy's voice was teetering dangerously close to full anger.

"Excuse me, D-Doctor McCoy," Spock suddenly spoke from just behind Jim, his normal calm tone sounding watery. "I'd like to congratulate you and, you and Ms. Uhura on your—"

"Doctor?" McCoy repeated. Jim wondered why that, of all things, was what he questioned.

"Yes," Spock replied as he seized himself up to his full height. It would have been impressive if he didn't sway on his feet just soon after. "She confessed to me she only wants to date-date a doctor. So, logically, you must be a doctor. I am a doctor." With that, Spock nodded once to McCoy and then once to Jim before he tipped over backwards onto the floor.

*

"Damnit, I'm a bartender not a doctor," McCoy grumbled as he pressed a cool, damp cloth against Spock's forehead. Spock stirred and blearily blinked awake.

"You truly are not with Ms. Uhura?" the man managed much to the bartender's obvious annoyance.

"No, I'm not," he snapped, standing upright. Spock realized that they were in his apartment and he was lying awkwardly on the couch, as if he had been haphazardly placed there. "I don't know why you do it, listen to that kid."

"To whom are you referring?"

"Jim, Jim Kirk?" McCoy answered, giving Spock an inspecting look that hinted he suspected Spock was having memory issues. "You shouldn't take advice from him, 'specially when it concerns matters of romance. That man is emotionally retarded."

"I do not understand," Spock replied, carefully. "How can you be so sure of this? You have probably only met Jim on five separate occasions."

"I'm a bartender," was the exasperated reply. "You get to know people, know their types. Jim is unique but he's got his cross to bear, whether he knows it or not. I'm being a friend, here, and making sure you don't fall victim to it. Got it?"

Spock nodded, mutely. Satisfied with this, McCoy stood, looming over Spock on the couch with his arms crossed. "Now you listen here," he continued. "The next time you see Ms. Nyota? You have flowers, specifically gardenias. You don't beat around the bush or use any frilly language or none of that nonsense. You ask, straight out, for a date."

With that, McCoy moved away from the couch and grabbed his coat. "I'll see you two dates from now," was all he said before the door slammed shut behind him.

*

Jim barged straight into the Brasserie and made a beeline for McCoy, billows of snow from the outside world following in his wake. December had dawned on them and with it came snow, snow and more snow. (He almost couldn't believe, belatedly behind the irritation, that he had been coming to the bar for almost a year now.) The Brasserie was in cheerful spirit despite, tinkling gold and red lights decorating the walls and mantles. It made a wonderful affect, giving the bar a warm glow.

He didn't see any of this, at least not at first, being concerned more with how little noise his fists made as they slammed hard against the bar. Especially since the action ended up hurting so much. He relented anyway, trying a new tactic. "McCoy!" he called to the bartender at the other side of the bar, who was tending to the needs of a couple. The sight of McCoy and a couple made Jim seethe even further.

McCoy took his sweet time making his way down the bar, unnecessarily stopping to talk to anyone who was sitting at the bar between him and Jim. Those unfortunate few spent most of the conversation sending weary glances to the fiery blond glaring at them. Eventually, McCoy did stand in front of him, protected from Jim's fury by the thick chestnut counter between them.

"I don't know what you told him—"

"Wait, backtrack," McCoy said, holding up a hand. "Who're we talking about?"

"Spock," Jim said, as if it should have been obvious.

The man seemed to think about this, as if he had trouble recalling the name, before giving Jim a short nod to continue. "I don't know what you told him," Jim repeated. "But he won't fucking listen to me anymore. Said it was something you said? What the hell did you tell him? Take it back, whatever it was!"

McCoy listened, or at least, gave the appearance of listening that was so common of many bartenders. It worked, usually, but Jim was a notoriously perceptive man and knew that he didn't even have half of McCoy's attention. "McCoy!" A few heads in the bar turned at the yell and the bartender scowled.

"Shut up, kid," he snapped, leaning forward on his hands to loom over Jim. "I heard you, damnit, and I won't take anything back because it was all something Spock needed to hear. Come in tomorrow night and see what my advice has gotten him."

*

Jim did come in the next night and found out, pretty quickly, it was Spock and Uhura's third date. It was their first date in the bar, a fact McCoy was very proud to know and he had made sure that Scotty—the notoriously greasy cook of the Brasserie—made up the best steaks (not deepfried) this side of Texas. Jim didn't really get to find out whether the steaks were good because this was also a night of other firsts: the first time Jim ever got into a fight at the Brasserie.

It was especially hard, he had found out, to get into a fight at a bar that wasn't a dive. Most of the guys he'd provoked were reasonable enough to shake their heads and walk away. Finally, Jim got lucky with one guy who was drunk enough to get angry. McCoy hadn't immediately caught on to Jim's plans because he was humoring Uhura by playing the piano. The slam of the keys when the man did realize what was going on made a perfect accompaniment to the hard smack of the fist connecting with Jim's jaw.

He couldn't be sure who wrenched the other guy off of him, but Jim was well aware that it was McCoy holding him back. The bartender had a strong grip that bit into his upper bicep and sobered him up pretty quickly.

"You are so fucking dead," McCoy growled into his ear as he half dragged half manhandled Jim out into the snow. He shoved Jim, hard, into the gray night. "Where the fuck do you get off, huh? You don't fight in my bar if you want to ever come back and I am this close to not letting you come back if it weren't for Uhura—"

Jim couldn't help the obvious flinch that over took him at the name but McCoy caught it. The bartender pointed, finger sharp in the cold air, to the curb. "Sit your sorry ass down," he ordered before turning on his heel and heading back into the bar.

He watched the other man go, took one look at the curb and did the unexpected, he sat. Jim sat and shivered because damned if it wasn't early December. Just when he had resorted to clutching his elbows tight together for warmth, the familiar weight of his jacket settled over his shoulders accompanied by a different weight. It spoke wonders to the state he was in when it took him a second to realize McCoy's arm was over his shoulder. Jim looked at the man, the brashest most cantankerous bartender he'd ever known and sighed.

"I'm sorry," he admitted, with great difficulty.

McCoy eyed him with his normal, weighty wisdom look that normally made Jim's skin crawl. It had a different effect with physical contact. "Jim," McCoy said carefully. "Why did you start a fight tonight?"

"I...I don't know," he answered and looked away. McCoy was going to say more, going to try to get the truth out of him. Wisely, Jim chose just to get it out on his own. "It's stupid," he reasoned. "But, Spock? He's been all I've got for a while now and…I love Uhura, I really do. She's great for him; I haven't seen him this happy in a while." All this came out in a rush, a torrent of feelings Jim had never admitted but still felt needing to be said. "A lot of people have left me, in my life. It started with my dad, then my brother, my step-dad, my mother. I just can't help but think—"

"It is stupid," Leonard interrupted without much eloquence. Jim turned to him with an exasperated look but the somber expression on McCoy's face quelled it. "Because you have me now, even if he does leave."

After that, kissing McCoy only seemed natural. It only seemed right when McCoy kissed back.


	2. Catch me a Catch

"What are you doing?" McCoy's voice is blunt and sudden.

Scotty jumped nearly out of his skin, rounding around from where he had been leaning as far as he could out the small kitchen window to watch the bar outside it. "Nothing!" he exclaimed hastily. He went about acting as if he was cleaning his spatula on his apron in hopes that McCoy would grow bored and move on. No such luck.

"You're doing something, I saw it."

"Yes, okay," Scotty admitted with a resound sigh and roll of his eyes. "Your Jimmy is here, I was lookin' to see what the fuss was about."

McCoy all but jumped to get out into the bar at that, Scotty's knowing and suspicious gaze following him on the way out. As a Scotsman, he was bound by good breeding to love his boss and all his faults whatever they may be. One of McCoy's biggest, the one that affected everyone he met, was his nosiness. The man couldn't keep his nose out of a pile of shit if he thought he could help it smell better and this devotion spilled over into his employees just as equally as his customers. Sure, Scotty could admit McCoy had helped quite a lot of people with his blunt, honest advice but Scotty didn't need his help. No, he would do this on his own.

Especially, he leant back out the window, peering suspiciously at the two at the end of the bar. McCoy's posture bespoke of tension that one would assume was from irritation but Scotty had known the man all ten years of the Brasserie's existence, through thick and thin and Jocelyn. That wasn't anger in his form, no, but bemusement. Scotty knew what caused that confusion and knew, just as well, that if McCoy started sniffing around in his business that the invasion would be mutual.

*

Something was going on in his bar, McCoy just knew it. He didn't know what was going on but it was something enough to affect Scotty into strange behavior. He did know, however, that it wasn't anything to do with his own plans as they weren't anything beyond trying to drown Jim Kirk in alcohol. This task not being something that required much skill as Jim seemed bound and determined to do it on his own. He had to modify his plans to being more of stopping Jim from drowning himself so that McCoy even had the chance to be the one responsible.

The change in demeanor at his bar didn't start with Jim, though, who had been making regular appearances at the Brasserie for a few months now. No, it started sometime in early fall just after McCoy's original waitress, Janice Rand, decided she had enough of city life. She left, just on the ending cusp of September, promising to send McCoy aplenty a postcard from the sunny isles of the Bahamas.

So, naturally, he needed a new waitress. Christine Chapel had come at an exact right time. She was another blonde but different than Janice ever was, more shy and polite in contrast to Janice's nice but overbearing attitude. McCoy knew her through her father, a man who was a banker and had given him the loan that started the Brasserie. He'd seen her grow up from an adorable, chubby thirteen year old into the pretty little twenty something she was when he hired her. She was sweet and he couldn't help but adore her.

What wasn't sweet was her and Scotty's quiet, hushed little meetings they had during work nearly every day. McCoy wasn't paranoid, or anything like it, but they were his employees and he felt that since they were literally in ihis business/i that it was only fair that he was in theirs. Especially when they took the time to whisper it to each other while on the clock. He didn't think much into it, though. At least, not at first.

*

"Why are you such an asshat?" McCoy asked, slowly shaking the cocktail shaker in one hand while he observed the bar around them.

Jim leant forward on his elbows looking further down the bar to watch Chapel. "Why haven't you introduced me to your lovely new waitress?" he asked with a waggle of his brows that just made McCoy want to smack him.

"You two have met—"

"Statement!" Jim interrupted. "One, love." McCoy rolled his eyes.

"What do you need to be introduced to her for?" McCoy asked, bored, and poured the martini into the glass without much fanfare. "Why did you order such a girly drink?" He slid the glass over by its elegant stem, giving Jim a particularly distasteful look.

"How else would I get to know her?" Jim asked and took a delicate sip of the martini, pinky mockingly erect. "Ahh, did you really think I'd pass up something called 'Pink Orgasm' and not try it?"

"Damnit, Jim, you don't need to get to know her—"

"Two, love!"

"And I'm sick of this stupid question game," McCoy finished and stalked away down the bar to tend to customers he actually liked. Jim watched him go with a grin, downing the truly insubstantial girly drink in one smooth go. Girly or not it was enough of a distraction that when he lowered the glass to find a strange man standing in front of him, behind the bar, he jumped. "Who—"

"Hallo," the man said with a slight but still apparent Scottish accent. He held out a hand, which Jim carefully took and found to be a little greasy. "I'm the Brasserie's cook, Scotty. We haven't ever been properly introduced but, boy, do I know a lotta 'bout you."

"Oh? Well, it's nice to finally meet you, which, uh, why haven't I before?" Jim asked dubiously. "I didn't even know there was food enough served here that needed a cook."

"Well, McCoy holds that as a secret," Scotty replied with a grin. "As once any fella tries some of my food, they're always gonna come back. I figured, seein' as you been comin' back anyway, I'd offer some food to yah."

The blond seemed to consider this. "I'm not—"

"I take you as a medium rare guy with bacon, lettuce n' tomato with extra onions and pickles?"

Jim stared. "Uh, yeah," he said, surprise lacing his voice. "That actually sounds really good."

Scotty grinned wider and tipped his head to Jim. "Jus' you wait here and it'll be out in a jiff, Cap'n."

*

The first time Jim sees Bones out from behind the bar, he almost doesn't recognize him. He knew, superficially, that Bones had legs. Of course he did, even if he acted like there was actually a tin garbage can there, Jim knew better. What really throws him is that the legs are nice, really nice, and they make their way up into forming a superbly shaped ass. It must be as Jim can tell that from all the way in the butcher section when Bones is looking over tomatoes in produce.

That brings another glaring realization apparent to Jim: they're in the same grocery store. The very same grocery store that Jim shops in nearly every week and has, somehow by fluke of nature and his own poor observation skills, been shopping at the same store as Bones all this time. Which meant they lived near each other! It's a little weird at first to consider the man anything beyond a bartender but Jim figured that they'd crossed that point a while ago when he wheedled Bones' life story out of him.

Naturally, Jim immediately heads straight over to produce, catching Bones by the bananas. "Has anyone told you what a nice ass you have?" he asked, quietly, leaning in close right beside the other man's ear.

McCoy gave a satisfying start and whirled around, ready to deck the "pervert" only to find a grinning Jim. He still had the urge to punch. "Oh, great," he said sarcastically. "It's you."

"It's you!" Jim happily repeated, lifting his arms out to either side as if expecting a hug, his hand basket swinging dangerously close to smacking McCoy in the elbow. "It's me! We shop at the same grocery store!"

"I hate you! Go away" Bones said, mocking Jim's high-pitched excited tone. "Just go away and leave me and my bananas in peace."

Jim's expression turned wicked. "Alright, Bones," he said in a low voice. "If you want to be alone with your banana I won't stop you."

"Goddamnit, Jim!"

*

"Yah shop at the same grocery store?" Scotty asked, looking nothing like the sympathetic ear McCoy was hoping.

"Yeah," McCoy sighed. He tied his apron tight around his waist, looking especially haggard today.

"That's great!"

McCoy froze, knot half done in his hands, and slowly lifted his head up to stare at Scotty. "I, uh, I mean that sarcastically, a'course."

*

Just outside Christine's house was the loveliest little park Scotty had seen in this whole city. The leaves were turning a gorgeous autumn yellow and he had taken it upon himself to take her out on a picnic. He hadn't expected that the sight of Chapel, in a simple blue wool petticoat, would be more the sight to see.

"I know that you're a vegetarian and all that," he said as they settled on the blanket, which was the cheerful colours of his family tartan. "So I made us a healthy, vegetable meal."

Chapel looked delighted as she crossed her ankles underneath her and leaned over to pear into Scotty's basket. "Looks delicious," she said and gave him a small, honest smile. Scotty returned it in fold and handed her a sandwich.

"Tofurkey, that is."

Scotty was sure he could never get sick of Chapel's laughter.

*

McCoy hated Jim's laughter. It was too loud and went on for too long and sounded too much like Jim practiced it to sound nice. He knew that Jim didn't practice it though, and because he'd heard it so much he knew that it was natural. Especially since he had gone through the effort many a time to startle to sound from Jim just to see if it was.

Jim was laughing right now, sitting at one of the lower tables across the bar and chatting with Chapel, who was blushing. McCoy would have been making a fuss about this if not for the small smirk that curved the delicate pout of Christine's lips. He sighed, sitting a bottle of beer in front of a customer and watched the Kirk flirt with his waitress. It was hard not to scowl.

"I know, right?" Scotty asked with a sigh. McCoy turned to glare at the man peeking out from the window. "They're a sight to see."

"What do you mean by that, Scotty?" McCoy asked, sending a sidelong glance back at the two. He felt sorry mostly for Spock, who was uncomfortably caught in the middle.

"That—"

Whatever else Scotty said was completely lost to McCoy as, even though it had taken him a month and then some, he figured out exactly what was happening in his bar right under his nose. His head shot up, meeting Scotty's eyes dead on. "You!" The cook disappeared from the window completely.

McCoy turned around and called for Chapel. Jim got an expression on his face like he knew why McCoy was calling the waitress away, and he couldn't help but take some satisfaction in knowing the real reason why and looking forward to telling it to Jim later. If only to see Jim's expression when he was proven wrong, of course. Once Chapel was behind the bar he, without much ado, went into the kitchen to confront the crazy Scot.

"When did it happen?" he asked vehemently, arms going akimbo towards Scotty. "I can't believe this! I should have known you two were having an affair—"

"It isn't anything like that," Scotty protested holding has hands up to McCoy in an attempt to subdue his wrath. "Not a bit of it has gone on in the workplace, I promise yah."

"So you admit it?"

"Aye, without a bit of guilt," he replied with a slight bow of his head and an honest, honorable expression. "Been the best days o'my life, they have."

McCoy's anger deflated almost visibly then, his shoulders slumping and his expression clearing. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" he asked.

"Cuz you'da stuck your nose right into it!" Scotty exclaimed, waving his spatula around. "I didn't want your help, not that it isn't good, but I wanted to win Chris over for myself on my own terms."

"Oh…" the bartender looked a little confused, chewing his lower lip and staring dejectedly off at the fryer.

"'Sides," Scotty reasoned. "I didn't help you with your problem."

McCoy's eyebrow shot up and his gaze snapped into focus sharply back onto Scotty. "What problem?"

"You n' Jim—"

"You're fired!"

*

Despite having been forced out of the loop for nearly a month, McCoy readily insinuated his nose firmly between Scotty and Chapel as soon as he could. Of course, by then, the whole deed was done and they'd sown their own seeds of romance without a bit of his help. Christine had taken to reassuring their boss that he had at least done them the favor of introducing them, even if he didn't get to play matchmaker much beyond that.

McCoy firmly hated and denied their ridiculous ideal that he was put upon by their "charitable" reassurances that he was still a help, as if he needed to be some sort of matchmaker. The only thing he was really disheartened about was how he had been so totally oblivious to it. Either way, after they got McCoy's approval (and approval it was) along with that of Christine's actual father, Scotty proposed to her on Thanksgiving day in front of her whole family.

Real turmoil didn't brew in their life until December rolled around. How was he supposed to know that the night he decided to tell everyone was also the night of Spock and Uhura's third date?

*

Scotty grinned and clambered onto the small stage, holding up his hands to quiet the people in the bar. "Alright, people, alright," he announced. "With much deliberation and a little help, I've decided to tell it all to you straight and in the best way I know how." McCoy snorted behind him but started playing the tune out on cue readily enough. So, Scotty sang:

"_I love a lassie, a bonnie Hielan' lassie,__  
__If you saw her you would fancy her as well:__  
__I met her in September, popped the question in November,__  
__So I'll soon be havin' her a' to ma-sel'.__  
__Her faither has consented, so I'm feelin' quite contented,__  
__'Cause I've been and sealed the bargain wi' a kiss.__  
__I sit and weary weary, when I think aboot ma deary,__  
__An' you'll always hear me singing this..._"

The crowd laughed and Chapel blushed as Scotty pulled her onto the stage, spinning her around. He was sure, if not for the sudden crash of two tables and a few odd chairs when Jim's body landed on them, that the rest of the song would have been a huge success. He figured, also, as debuts go, his couldn't have gone any worse either. Everyone turned in shock and McCoy shot up off the piano bench, moving down upon Jim with all the wrath and fury of a bat outta hell.

"Oh, poor Jim," Christine sighed as she watched their boss drag the man bodily out of the bar.

"Aye," Scotty replied and figured, as McCoy's only friend of any length and standing, he should help the man out with the rowdy lawyer. He trotted over towards the bar exit but paused, when McCoy was already barging back in. "Leo--?"

"Can you get me my coat?" McCoy asked wearily and Scotty watched as the anger drained from him. At Scotty's worried look, McCoy waved a hand. "I've got him."

Scotty nodded and hurried to the coat rack. "He gonna be alright?" he couldn't help but ask as he handed over McCoy's heavy coat.

"I don't know, could you—"

"Coffee, got it," he replied with a small grin which got him a small uncertain smile in return. Scotty watched McCoy disappear back out into the snow, the door swinging listlessly shut behind him.

"What's going on?"

Scotty turned to see Uhura, the lovely lady who had been trying to have a date. Scotty shrugged and gestured at the window, which they both walked over to. "I think that McCoy is setting him in line—" She gasped and he stuttered to a stop when outside, through the fogged window, their two friend's heads drew closer. He knew it, just knew it. "McCoy you devil you."

*

"Come on, Spock," Uhura said softly, sitting down on the curb beside Jim. The man looked up from where he was leaning against McCoy and smiled. "You're an idiot, Jim Kirk." She handed him a steamy mug of coffee.

"Thanks, babe," he replied drolly but was grinning all the same.

McCoy shifted beside him and nearly jumped out of his skin when Scotty and Chapel plopped down next to him. "What're y'all doing exactly?" A mug was shoved in his hands just the same as the one in Jim's.

"Checking up on our friends, McCoy," Scotty answered simply. "Good job with your problem." McCoy made a show of rolling his eyes.

Silence fell over their small group then as they sat back, on the cold concrete curb together and looked up at the grey sky over head. Jim tried not to mention how uninspiring a scene framed their super friendship bonding moment. Eventually, however, McCoy could no longer take any more of it.

"I guess that means," he drawled out slowly to gain everyone's full attention. "That I'll be buyin' everyone condoms for Christmas." This was met with a series of groans except, of course, for Jim's perfect laugh which, if McCoy was being honest, was all he really wanted anyway.


	3. The Rest You Can Live Without

Jim doesn't have a nice apartment!

McCoy stirred slightly, mind groggily surfacing from his (previously) peaceful slumber. He groaned and tried to roll over but a steady weight on his hips kept him from being able to. That woke him up pretty quickly. "Jim?"

"Who else would be sitting on you naked?" was the reply and obvious answer, of course. McCoy groaned again. "That's the spirit. You'll never guess what today is?"

"Doomsday—"

"Our two week anniversary, Bones!" Jim hurriedly continued, finally understanding that McCoy didn't know the meaning of a rhetorical question. "Just two minutes ago we have been doing this dating thing for two whole weeks!"

"That a record for you or summat?" was the bleary drawled retort. Jim quickly, acting on his toes tonight it seemed, tweaked Bones' nipples to keep him from drifting off. The flesh hardened under his fingers but there was no accompanying chorus under his rump. "Jim," Bones said evenly, finally breaking his eyes open just enough to glare at his friend (he refused the terms: lover, boyfriend, and only-way-you're-getting-laid-anytime-soon). "Tomorrow is Sunday. I will deal with you..." He lolled his head to the side, eyeing the clock that stood in silent red testament to Jim's insanity. "Twelve hours from now."

"But Bones—"

It was too late; Leonard McCoy had already drifted off into dreamland. Jim made a face at the man who was too unconscious to care. He was just feeling a little...Well, McCoy had hit it on the head with his first guess: it was something of a record for Jim and forgive him if he was feeling a little bit excited about it. Especially under the recent news that it was Spock and Uhura's three month anniversary. He didn't know why but he felt it was unfair, felt jealous, that Spock had had more time with Uhura than he'd ever gotten the chance to with Bones. Not to mention Scotty and Christine were already planning their fucking wedding. These thoughts drifted away though, chased away by the soft tug of Bones' arm around his waist.

Morning, as far as he could be concerned, couldn't come soon enough. Noon did come a little later, though, and that was when Jim returned to the land of the living. He was spread, limbs akimbo all across McCoy's expansive king with a large, drooling body pressed against him. The drooling body part would have been something he'd enjoyed if it wasn't that the body belonged to McCoy's massive Great Dane Horatio.

Getting up after that was a little easier. Jim loved dogs, really, but he didn't love sleeping with them. He eagerly hopped out of the bed, a massive king that made him doubt McCoy's previous supposed strict bachelor's life, and ran straight into the bathroom. His morning routine was made very different every time it happened at Bones' house. When he was at home, there was never enough of something. Never enough shaving cream, never enough cologne, never enough toothpaste and the list went on; he never seemed to be able to keep up with it. At Bones' there was always enough of everything. The man must shop in advance or, Jim stared at the spare toothbrush he had claimed, was actually buying just enough for them both.

This thought followed him into the kitchen. It struck him especially hard when he caught sight of Bones, dressed in jusr a chequered apron and a slack pair of jeans. Jim froze, toes pressed hard into the cold linoleum. Bones must have heard him anyway because he turned, eyes catching on Jim.

"I made you waffles," Bones said with as much flourish as he could muster, reserving his manly dignity intact, and pointed to the plate on the table between them. "But they're from an Eggos box…"

Jim smiled down at the two waffles sitting on a too-large paper plate. So much from them spoke to Jim, just as the simple blue toothbrush had. Bones was a creature of habit and was, from what Jim could plainly see, very content in his bachelor life. Yet, here was this effort being made, assumedly monumental on Bones' part, to fit Jim into his normal pattern. To make Jim fit.

"They look good," he said. "Thanks." He looked up and their eyes met, unspoken words passing between them. Too soon, Jim scolded himself mentally, too soon for that.

*

"Bones!" Jim bellowed as he rushed into the Brasserie, scarf trailing behind him like a banister as he practically ran inside. "Bones!"

"I'm right here, shut the fuck up," McCoy growled and barely, just barely slammed the pitcher of beer down onto the bar. The poor customer he had been serving jumped anyway. Here he had thought he'd been getting better at controlling his anger.

Jim rushed up to the bar, taking the place of the retreating customer, all but slamming into it and doubling over it to reach up on his toes and plant a kiss on McCoy's mouth. He broke away before Bones could bite his lip (like he had the first time Jim ever did this). "You've got a help wanted sign in your window," Jim exclaimed.

McCoy gave him the driest, most sarcastic look he could manage. Jim didn't even flinch. "Yes, I am aware," he snapped and moved on down the bar. "Go bother someone iwho isn't working/i, Jim."

"Scotty!" Jim called as soon as Bones was at the other end of the bar. McCoy whipped around just in time to see Scotty walk over to where Jim was. "Why is there a help wanted sign?"

"Ah," Scotty said with a smile, leaning on the bar. McCoy didn't yell at him from across the room for getting grease stains on his bar top but it was a very close thing. "That'd be because McCoy's looking for a new bartender to pick up on the hours he can't work now."

"Oh," Jim said as if this information wasn't as tantalizing as he had hoped it'd be. "Okay then." And that was the end of that.

*

"What was it that you wanted to be when you were growing up?" Jim's eyes tried to search Bones out in the dark. Tonight was their one month anniversary and the first of December, Jim felt it was a pretty significant night in the scheme of things.

"Hm? Where's this coming from?"

"Holiday spirit's gone to my head; it's got me thinking is all. About when I was a kid." Jim shifted and cool air assaulted Bones' now lonely thigh. "And, well, I mean you couldn't have wanted to be a bartender when you were ten."

Bones seemed to consider this, fingers laced and resting on his belly as he stared up at the ceiling. "Did you want to be a lawyer?"

In the dark Jim made a face, annoyed that McCoy wouldn't answer him straight out. "No," he replied, voice a little whiny. "I wanted to be an astronaut." Jim shifted over onto his side and wrapped himself around McCoy. "Your turn," he scolded with a pinch to Bones' nipple.

"Yeah, yeah." Bones continued to look up at the ceiling, mouth pulled into a slight but distinct frown. "I got to be what I wanted when I grew up—"

"Which was?"

"Goddamnit, Jim, I'm not even sure you did grow up," McCoy snapped without much heat and slapped the side of Jim's head. "I wanted to be a pianist in an orchestra. I was."

Jim sat up. "Bullshit," he accused down at Bones.

"No, really," McCoy relented, eyes finally darting away from the ceiling to look at Jim. "It was the life I had before Jocelyn. I met her that way; her father sponsored the orchestra I was in, back in Atlanta." He shrugged, vaguely, the motion only apparent as the pillow crinkled under him. "She said she wanted something more stable, so we moved here and opened the bar. That was more her dream than mine." The familiar scowl settled into McCoy's features.

"Wow," Jim sighed, shoulders slumping. "That's just not fair; I never even got to be vaguely an astronaut."

"Why not?"

"I've got allergies out the ass," was the laughing reply. "Not to mention I used to have these terrible asthma attacks." Jim snorted, derisive to his own plight. He was surprised when a large, cool hand pressed against his chest just over his lungs.

McCoy's face was thoughtful as he stared at his hand on Jim's chest. The silence drew out between them. "Go to sleep, Jim."

*

Normally, McCoy didn't like to pry. While that could seem completely like a lie to most of his friends (it depended on who you talked to, Scotty was not a reliable source either way). The only time he ever did was when it was asked of him. Sometimes it wasn't asked for verbally. Sometimes, one of his customers would just look at him and he could see it, clear as day in their eyes, how they needed someone to listen. He was willing to give them that time and that effort to hear what they had to say, to care even if it was just for one pint.

What was holding him back with Jim was that the man hadn't asked for help. In fact, McCoy wasn't sure if it was help so much that Jim needed. He wasn't sure what Jim needed, really, ever. It seemed that he just stumbled upon the solution and, if he was being honest with himself, these solutions were found when he was simply being himself and not the good listener. He knew it spoke volumes about what they had between them. However, it was due to this depth, that he was reluctant to jump to conclusions and risk pushing Jim away with his assumptions.

"Okay, Len," Uhura suddenly butt into his mental revere, her eyebrows drawn close over her dark eyes. "What's got you all stoic and silent tonight?"

He knew better to deny it, so he pushed off the back counter and walked over to the bar. "Jim," he answered simply. Her expression morphed at that, turning into a slight scowl to an elegant raise of her eyebrow.

"What's that man done now?" Nyota asked in exasperation. "Nothing too stupid I hope."

McCoy snorted, shaking his head with a small reluctant smile. "Just leaves the lid up," he drawled in reply earning him a chuckle and light tap of her hand to his forearm. "Well, we've been doing this thing—"

"Dating," she supplied.

He gave her a dry look. "This ithing/i for about two months now," he continued as if interrupted. "Yet, I've never been to his apartment and—" He stopped midsentence when he saw her expression change again: this time, it was one of recognition. "Is this something I should be worried about?"

She chewed her lip for a second, eyes darting off to land across the room where Jim and Spock sat. Jim was trying to start a war with Spock using peanuts as artillery. It was largely unsuccessful as Spock spent much of the time picking up any peanuts that went skittering off the table. She sighed and turned back to the bartender, her expression a little exasperated.

"It's not something to worry about, per se," Nyota said, clearly choosing her words carefully. McCoy quirked an eyebrow in response, prompting her silently to elaborate. "I don't think it's my place to say, really, but it isn't because he's not serious. He's just…" She made a frustrated noise. "You should ask him, okay?"

"Hmph, yeah, okay." She gave him a significant look and went back over to her two friends to break up the war that had finally broken out.

*

If he just sat still and listened, he could hear it: the slight sound of the blaring music coming from Jim's headphones, coming and receding, as Jim moved around his apartment. Or, more accurately, as Jim danced (flailed) around his apartment. With a sigh, McCoy set aside the book he had been trying to enjoy to look up and watched as Jim flailed in his kitchen. The kid had enthusiasm but practically no coordinated rhythm when it came to his dancing. Unfortunate for Jim but endlessly entertaining for others.

McCoy, reluctantly, often found himself in a position where he had to save Jim from embarrassment and stop him from dancing. (At /i.) He was lucky today, however, as Jim decided to dance in the privacy of McCoy's apartment rather than in his bar and now he could enjoy watching the debacle.

"Jim," McCoy called but he didn't even get as much as a glance. He tried again, louder, and this time Jim did look with a huge shameless grin. 'Well,' McCoy 'mused, at least he's aware he's terrible.' "Please stop being so weird. I'm trying to read."

Jim, naturally, doesn't stop.

*

McCoy could find Jim pretty easily in the café just by looking at the legs of each chair. Jim's was the only one on two legs. One of his legs swung haphazardly while the other supported his chair acrobatics with his knee against the edge of the table. Reluctantly, he had to admit he was suitably impressed by Jim's skill to keep himself stable on the two legs—especially when the man switched knees in one smooth movement without more than a slight jostle.

"Gonna crack your skull open," was what McCoy said anyway as he dropped down into the chair from across Jim. The airborne chair legs met the ground with a loud bang as Jim eagerly sat forward.

"You finally made it, geeze," Jim complained, swiping McCoy's latte. The man gave every impression of being one of those 'hardcore for black coffee' vibes but was just the opposite, getting the frothiest most flavored cappuccinos and lattes on the menu. Jim couldn't complain because peppermint spice was delicious, especially this time of year. "I thought you'd died."

"Jim, you've got—" Bones made a show of sighing before reaching over and wiping his thumb across Jim's upper lip. "Such an infant," he mumbled, licking at the whipped cream on his thumb and reclaiming his latte. "Sorry, had an interview that ran late." Pointedly he ignored Jim's interested gaze that lingered on his mouth.

"Eh, it's okay," Jim waved a hand. "So you really are going through hiring another bartender?"

McCoy nodded, mug halfway to this mouth. "Need one."

Jim shrugged and slouched back into his chair. His grin was lazy and his eyelids heavy, McCoy regarded him with a suspicious look. "So you wanna go back your place?" The way Bones' expression changed so quickly it made Jim sit up.

"Actually, I was hoping we could go to yours…?"

"Why would we do that?" Jim hastily protested, his smile faded in degrees.

"Because I've never been there, before, Jim," was the calm explanation. McCoy's expression was neither accusing nor disappointed, which only served to confuse Jim. "I'm just…concerned as to why that would be."

Jim's face went through a myriad of different expressions. It was hard to pin down each they went by so fast but then shuttered into careful blankness. McCoy's heart clenched in fear of a backlash for his actions but still couldn't regret confront Jim in the first place.

"I didn't think it really mattered," Jim said and McCoy could see it was a lie. "To you, I mean." And that hurt but McCoy hadn't expected any less. "I guess we could, if you're really sure."

"Yes, Jim, I am sure," McCoy snapped, unable to ebb the growing irritation. Jim didn't flinch but his expression grew harder and McCoy had to reel the anger back, control it. He wasn't here to fight with Jim. "Today is our one month and ten day anniversary." At Jim's surprised look he repressed a scoff. "What, you think you were the only one keeping track?" He sighed, heavily, and glanced around the busy café. "This isn't where I want to do this."

"Okay," Jim said quietly. He stood and held out a hand for McCoy like he normally would do, but the motion was shaper than normal. "Then let's go to…my place."

*

"You must think I'm a real hypocrite," Jim slouched against his old, ratty couch. McCoy considered him in a thoughtful silence that made him uncomfortable. This was usually when the girls screamed and yelled, walked out and slammed the door. He was supposed to be a successful lawyer and yes, while he was, this status usually implied a nice car (which he did have) and a massive, nice apartment.

"It's alright."

"What?" Jim asked in confusion completely unsure by what that simple statement could mean. Bones' expression softened and he cleared the distance between them, descending down onto the old sunken couch.

"It's alright that you're a hypocrite," McCoy said slowly, a smile picking at the corners of his mouth. "And," he sent a skeptical glance around the small, dark apartment. "While I can promise you that I don't plan on spending much time here, I'm not superficial enough to judge you based on where you sleep at night."

Sometimes, just sometimes, Jim actually appreciated Bones' blunt nature. It was a welcome change to much of the fabrication he encountered in his everyday life, even if sometimes it did hurt a bit. He didn't realize how much he needed it in his life, however, until those first fateful days he started regularly going to the Brasserie.

"You're my best friend, you know," he suddenly announced.

"Yeah," Bones replied softly, leaning over to press their foreheads together. "I know."

Jim looked distinctly ready to protest before he lost the energy to. "How can I make it up to you?" he asked instead, blue eyes catching in the slight light.

"Let's have Christmas here," McCoy answered, almost immediately. Jim reeled back on the couch and nearly fell over. "Oh, quit the dramatics. My place is too small and I figured we'd throw some kind of party for our," a smile spread across his face, "friends this Christmas."

"Uh, okay?" Jim replied, clearly speculative. "You're going to have to clean the place up—" At Bones expression, he quickly reiterated: "iwe're/i gonna have to clean the place up."

McCoy smiled, one of the rare ones that Jim only usually ever got to see in the afterglow of sex or when Bones was just waking up after a good nap. Seeing it here, in his apartment, did funny things to Jim's insides. Bones crawled over to where Jim had landed after his (over) reaction. "I'm sorry," Bones said softly, leaning down to press his head into Jim's neck and sighing. Jim nearly snorted at the feeling, the steady breath on his neck ticklish. "For forcing this on you. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Bones," Jim sighed and threaded his fingers through Bones' hair and tugged. McCoy lifted his head to look Jim in the eye. "You didn't hurt me. I'm sorry for being such an idiot and not just taking you to my apartment in the first place."

*

"Why couldn't you have just told me he lived in a shitty place?" McCoy said in a tone he felt was pretty justifiably annoyed.

"I'm sorry," Nyota protested, thin eyebrows worrying together on her forehead while her mouth dropped into a frown.

"From the way you two made it seem, unwittingly or not," he vented, "I thought he must have been living out of his car or on a park bench."

"I can't help that it's always been something he's sensitive over, who knows why," Uhura was looking a bit annoyed herself.

"Who's sensitive over what?" Scotty suddenly broke in, appearing at McCoy's elbow. The bartender jumped only a little, he was still unused to how frequently Scotty made an appearance outside the kitchen lately.

"Jim is because he lives in a bad apartment," she explained.

The noise McCoy let out in exasperation startled even the regular customers, who were normally used to his vehement outbursts. Nyota noticeably leaned back from the bar, eyes wide. "You tell Soctty that in two seconds flat without a care but feed me the 'it's not my place to say' bullshit?" he raged. "This whole ordeal is stupid and could have been avoided if you had just said something!"

Nyota recoiled. "Leonard, I mean, I know it seems stupid but its how Jim feels, I can't help that," she regained her composure, shoulders straightening in defiance. "And yes, it is stupid, but this is Jim and if you don't realize how much worth he puts in towards your opinion than maybe you're the stupid one."

*

Once Bones had gotten his hands in the matter, Jim's apartment cleaned up better than he could have ever anticipated. Short of replacing every piece of furniture or the unfortunate wallpaper

"I made a pie," Spock cautioned as he entered, handing Jim the dish that did, indeed, hold a pie. "Nyota helped me, however, so there is no need to worry." At his elbow, Uhura grinned at McCoy and winked before leading Spock further into the apartment.

Jim watched them go worriedly before Bones touched his arm. He turned with a sheepish smile and a shrug. They didn't get much more time to discuss the matter before Scotty came bursting in, laden down with multiple stacks of serving delicious and an onslaught of delicious smells.

"I brought the entire dinner!" Scotty declared, handing off most of it to Jim. Bones, the sneaky bastard, had wisely retreated into the kitchen with the pie he still had from Spock. "I hope you all appreciate it. Chris helped, too, a'course." He turned to his fiancé with a smile. Christine stepped inside, carrying a crockpot.

"Kitchen?" she asked and Jim pointed, well as best as he could point with his hands full and followed after her.

Before Jim knew it, or could do anything about it, all his friends were doing the work. Placing dishes, spreading and serving food, pouring wine and making conversation. He practically had to sit back and watch, much to his dismay. He caught Bones smirking at him, obviously amused at his helplessness.

*

"So," Bones said just after everyone had cleared out, leaving the apartment almost melancholy in their absence. "There was a real reason I bowled you over about the apartment thing." He sat down on the couch next to Jim, their thighs touching. Jim turned to look at him, quirking an eyebrow as if prompting McCoy to continue. "But first I want to ask some questions."

"Okay," Jim said slowly, his gaze becoming suspicious. Bones' replying smirk didn't help any.

"I want to know why you stay here, if it's such an eyesore to you."

"Honestly?" Jim asked and glanced away, eyes catching on the world outside his window. It'd begun to snow since they'd last checked, he noted vaguely. "This place has something of a…sentimental value to me. When I was in college, my brother Sam bought this place and I used to come and spend my summers here." He sighed, rolling his eyes and sending Bones a wry smile. "Had some great times here and…well, after Sam decided he didn't want the place anymore I took it off his hands. It's pretty much the only reason I'm here in New York instead of…California, I guess, was where I thought I was destined."

"Well, I'm glad," McCoy declared just a beat after Jim was finished speaking. Jim sent him a bemused look. "That you didn't move to fucking California, of all places."

Jim snorted, shifting on the couch to squirm his way onto Bones' lap. Bones groaned, arms wrapping around Jim's waist comfortably to pull him close. They sat there quietly for a while, silence falling over them. Jim found himself enjoying the silence and thought, quietly in the back of his mind, of how well they fit together and how, on some days, he was sure his heart was going to burst the next time he looked at Bones. He wondered how they had gotten here from grumpy bartender to frequently annoying customer but, on such nights when he was feeling especially sentimental, believed they were destined to end up this way no matter what.

McCoy's hand sliding up his back and his own following contented sigh broke whatever stillness had fallen over them. Jim leaned forward and kissed Bones, taking careful time to draw his tongue over every crease of Bones' lips before pushing his way inside. Bones let him, mouth opening and tongue reaching out to meet him. Lazily they kissed with no purpose or intent. It felt good to know, without a doubt, that they'd always have time to do more.

They pulled apart eventually after what could have been hours for all Jim cared. Bones smiled then, head dropping to the side as he considered Jim. "I wasn't finished," he said and moved his hands to press into Jim's chest, as if to stop him from distracting with anymore kisses. Jim wasn't planning on it. Normally he would, teasing Bones by playfully kissing him and interrupting whatever he was trying to say. Right now, it was different, now he wanted to hear whatever Bones had to say even if it was just to ask him to get off because he had to piss.

"I want to move in with you," Bones said and all Jim's thoughts ground to a halt, something inside him clenching painfully. "I know what you're going to say, that my place is better. It's not, it's too small and sure, it's better furnished but we can fix your place up. Especially since you iown/i it—"

"Yes, okay, yes move in with me," Jim did interrupt, after all, and grinned for all he was worth. "I think we should totally do that, yes." He didn't know how many more times he could say yes so he just shut up, grin doubling inside to make up for the loss. Bones blinked in surprise but didn't protest, didn't ask him if he was sure or if he should think about it, just pulled Jim inexorably closer.

Jim took Bones' face in hand, kissed him again and broke away with smile. "Merry Christmas," Bones said quietly and meant something else, something they couldn't quite say yet but Jim understood just the same.


	4. TRYCLW: Outtakes

_As soon as Jim entered the bar he made a beeline straight for where Bones **was** standing at the bar. He grabbed Bones by the shirt and pulled him down for a kiss. Bones broke away with a splutter but Jim doesn't let him get very far, hands still fisted in the front of his shirt._

"Gonna fuck you tonight," Jim breathed in a quiet sing-song voice. Bones groaned, low and throaty as Jim released his hold.

*

McCoy had originally told Jim he'd be spending the entire day in the apartment cleaning. All by himself. This was a bit of a lie…or possibly a lot of a lie but Uhura didn't mind not getting credit, for now at least, under the promise that McCoy owed her a favor. Normally, McCoy made it a rule to _never_ owe anyone favor**,** especially a woman**,** but he trusted Uhura. Even if that trust was a little misguided.

"Be warned," Len hissed as he hesitantly pushed the door into Jim's room open. It gave an ominous creak before swinging open and coming to a sudden stop when it met the massive pile of books that teetered behind it. "There might be cockroaches."

"Cockroaches!" Nyota squeaked and McCoy jerked his head back to give her a wide eyed look, sure he'd never hear such a sound come from the woman. She gripped the broom handle tighter, closer to her chest, tried to regain her composure. "There is a strong possibility I might scream."

"What?" he asked dubiously stood up from his hunched over position. Perhaps they were taking this a bit too seriously (dramatically).

"If I see a cockroach, I'm gonna scream," she insisted. Len frowned. It was going to be a long fucking day.

*

"JIM!" Bones bellowed. Jim looked up from his magazine, head turning to over his shoulder in the direction of the bathroom. "What the fuck is the matter with this towel?!"

Jim sighed, sat his unfinished magazine aside and got to his feet. The walk to the bathroom was only about ten steps, less than even ten seconds, but Jim stretched it to at least thirty by shuffling his feet across the floor. He opened the bathroom door to find Bones s_melling_ his towels, each getting a more disgusted look than the last.

"Jim," McCoy breathed through his teeth, holding up the various towels in his bathroom. "When was the last time you cleaned these?" Jim **didn't** really hear Bones, or pay much attention to whatever new prima donna issue he **was** having about Jim's apartment. Instead, Jim **was** taking careful time to rake his eyes up Bones nude form.

This is one of his favorite Bones. The 'fresh-out-of-the-shower-Bones' is Jim's brilliant and original name, most notable for the adorable manner with which Bones' hair sticks up and the pink flush to his cheeks and shoulders. It falls under 'just-been-fucked-by-Jim' look, which is below 'just-fucked-Jim-look,' and is one place above 'woke-up-from-a-nap-and-is-still-sleepy.' No one ever needs to know that look number one isn't the fucked ones, but 'afterglow-look' when Bones stares at Jim like he's the only guy on Earth and Bones couldn't be happier about it. That one makes his heart grow two sizes too big.

"Are you even listening to me?" Bones demanded, his hand slapping with a loud crack against Jim's naked shoulder. It sounds worse than it hurts, one of Bones specialty smacks that Jim is often on the receiving end of.

"You can't bitch at me without pants on," Jim insisted, crossing his arms over his chest and quirking an eyebrow at McCoy. "You remember what happened to us the last time you tried that." Jim's **knees **definitely don't get a little weak when Bones' eyes glass over as he remembered, just as Jim **was**, Jim's former couch that they broke just under such a situation. 

"The point is I am _no_t getting you the collection of Dicks Gone Wild but new towels for Christmas," Bones concluded with an air that did not bode well for any arguing.

Jim's mouth dropped. "You've got to be kidding me!" he exclaimed. "You are the wors—" Bones turned to him with a sharp glare, eyes a whole lot of dangerous, "wonderfullest boyfriend that it is a privilege to fuck." Bones pressed two fingers into his shoulder, pushing him out into the hall, and slammed the door in his face.

*

"Gonna fuck you tonight," Jim sang from the kitchen, his instruments the clash and clatter of dishes as he washed. Bones looked up from the couch. "Gunna fuuuuck yaa tooniight, _all_ niiiight loonngg."

Bones rolled his eyes and shifted further down on the couch. He remembered very well the first time Jim made such a promise. Remembered how when he came home he found Jim passed out on his couch. Apparently, as Bones learned the next morning, Jim had made such a declaration because he'd won a major case in court that day. It also, apparently, had worn him out more than Jim realized.

He **was** about to call bullshit on Jim's song when his lap **was** suddenly full of a twenty-six year old man. He grunted and groaned, lifting his paper to look at Jim from under it. "You are crushing me," he huffed and shifted so that Jim s**at** back, off his chest less and more on his hips.

"Tomorrow," Jim said**,** a little breathless as he settled himself atop Bones chest to chest, pressing as close as he could possibly manage. "The rest of your stuff arrives and you are officially moved in with me."

"Yes, I am aware," Bones said**,** but despite his dull tone, there **was** a smile pulling at his lips. The look **was** similar to the one Jim sees in the throes of afterglow and it made his gut clench tight. "Are you really that excited?"

"Yes!" Jim gasped, rolling his hips into Bones to show just how excited he was. "I cannot wait to fuck you on that piano again."

Bones groaned and dropped his head back against the arm of the couch. "Jim, not on the couch again," he said.

"This is the new one, Bones, it should hold up," Jim reassured Bones, punctuating each word with a small thrust of his hips. They **went** about testing that theory and this time Jim kept his promise.

*

Nyota leaned against the bar, a conspiratorial expression on her face. "They're ridiculous," she huffed with a slight roll of her eyes. Scotty nodded in agreement from where he stood against the back of the bar, arms crossed and watching the couple in particular. "I can't believe they can't see how similar they are."

Chris folded the dish towel and set it neatly on the rack. "I understand what you mean," she says just as carefully as she had been with folding the towel, a small line forming between her eyebrows. "Len and Jim do share some…habits."

"I don't see why this is an issue," Spock interjected only earning himself an exasperated glare from Nyota. "I apologize for disagreeing but I fail to see why what they have in common should be a problem between them."

"No, honey," Nyota sighed and leaned slightly against his side, her hand reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair back into place on his head. Christine watched with a quiet, amused smile and Scotty's look was just her opposite. "It's not a problem for them, it's a problem for us."

"What's a problem for us?" came the still slightly unfamiliar voice of the Brasserie's newest bartender. Sulu blinked as all their heads turned nearly at once in his direction, surprised by the sudden scrutiny. "Excuse me for interrupting…"

"It's quite alright, Mr. Sulu," Christine hurriedly said, sending him a bright reassuring smile. "We were just discussing Leonard and Jim."

Sulu's dark gaze turned in that direction and eventually, everyone had to turn to look. The two sat close on the piano bench. Leonard was trying, desperately, attempting to teach Jim something but Jim was having none of it. The blond's hands were deliberately straying everywhere but the piano keys. Leonard's dismayed and embarrassed expression was apparent even all the way at the bar. Nyota gave a derisive snort.

"Too bad they're so good together," she grumbled, turning back around. Sulu was still looking confused, so she clicked her tongue. "The problem for us, due to those two, is that they share the same annoying yet endearing trait: getting into other people's business."

"It's especially bad when it comes'ta matchmaking," Scotty said, finally drawing his eyes away from Leonard and Jim.

"Oh, I see," Sulu said awkwardly, taking a hesitant step back. He had only been working at the bar for just under two weeks now and really had yet to fit into their group. Privately, Nyota was sure there was someplace he fit and they just hadn't found it yet. She watched him move away and down the length of the bar, curious to know more about the man suddenly. Realization struck her and she nearly groaned aloud.

Her dismay was apparent as Spock's arm found its way around her waist, a warm hand pressing into her hip gently. "What's the matter, Nyota?" he asked.

The truth was too much to bear, at least not right now, publicly, so she lied. "Just thinking about this upcoming case Jim has roped me into helping on," she explained and pursed her lips. "I've got to translate Russian for some kid who's gotten himself in trouble. Going to be a headache."


End file.
